In Pursuit of the Obamas
by charliedees
Summary: After starting another pointless war, President Donald Trump drafts his predecessor Barack Obama, but the Obama family makes an unbelievable escape. Characters included: Donald Trump, Barack Obama, Michelle Obama, Sarah Palin, Hillary Clinton
1. Chapter 1

The year was 2030 and the draft for the Middle East War was complete.

The Obamas were shocked as the first date picked from the raffle was August 4: Barack's birthday. Michelle just knew Donald had to be the culprit. "He is relentless, baby," she whispered in her hubby's ear.

"I know, my bittersweet chocolate chip," Barack responded. "First he selects Judge Judy to be the new Supreme Court Justice; then he abolishes the law that a president's term is four years; then he raises the draft age limit to seventy; and now he must have rigged the draft. And I still cannot believe that he discovered Ted to be the Zodiac Killer."

"I do have to admit, I didn't see that coming." Michelle adjusted her electric lemon bifocals.

Then two schutzstaffel men burst through the former president's front doors, armed with tasers in case he resisted. "You'll never take me alive!" Barack yelled defiantly. He reminisced about his past ninjutsu lessons, and front flipped into the pair, knocking them flailing to the ground. "Malia! Sasha! Get your things and meet me at the Washington Monument at 1400 hours!" Barack barked before seizing two Japanese daggers off the coffee table along with a few tungsten throwing stars. The Washington Monument was their code for the Jefferson Memorial. It came in handy for quick getaways.

That is how the Obamas—ferocious Barack, prophetic Michelle, and their two spoiled children—became fugitives in the face of the United States of Trump.


	2. Chapter 2

Silver raindrops trickled down the black sedan's tinted windows, pooling at the bottom edge for a moment until the wind hastily whipped it away. Michelle peered into the gray darkness beyond the vehicle. Even though she could see into the future, she had no clue what would happen next.

"Honeybun," she suggested, "we're definitely far enough away from New York now. And Donald can't track us anymore."

Michelle ran her fingers along the back of Barack's neck, outlining where the tracker used to be. He winced at the touch.

But their sensual moment was cut short when the passenger-side window shattered into an array of twinkling shards. All four Obamas screamed in abject terror. Barack fainted, causing the four-door to skid off the road and slam into a firm oak tree. The still-conscious trio sat in the darkness petrified. Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the ruined scene around them for half a second, just enough time for Michelle to see a vague silhouette against the sky.

It was Hip-Hop Hillary, ready to bust some femurs as well as some radical rhymes. Michelle recoiled in terror when Hillary began what she called rapping.

"B-B-B-Barack, Barack, we need you in Iraq,

Beating down ISIS as if you're their ebola virus,

Pulling a jihad like you preach the word of God,

So damn hypnotizing, those extremists keep on dying."

Michelle noticed that the dank beat took its toll on Hip-Hop Hillary because she was sweating like a sinner in church. Though exasperated, Hip-Hop Hillary swiftly pulled out a Horton Scout HD 125 Crossbow—yes, the exact same kind as Daryl Dixon.

Michelle whispered, "Not this time, Hill," before swinging her car door open, directly into Hip-Hop Hillary. The former democratic presidential candidate fell to the ground like a sturdy redwood.

The Obamas took her captive; she would be handy should they need to make a deal with the Donald. He did not know it, but a revolution would soon be on his hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Donald hated Democrats. He detested them indiscriminately of course, but there was one unfavorable liberal that trumped the rest. And he would have fallen into Donald's gold-plated clutches if it weren't for his minions' incompetence.

Flanked by two suited men, Vice President Sarah Palin strode into the Oval Office, looking more distraught than usual. "Donald, I'm afraid we've got a code Renegade," she whispered through her thick Alaskan accent. After getting all the words out, she cowered in preparation for one of Donald's temper tantrums.

"Excuse me, Sarah?" Donald said through gritted teeth. Renegade was the code name of Barack Obama. He somehow evaded capture.

Sarah sighed. "I'm afraid—"

"I heard you." Donald swiveled away from his desk towards Sarah, who was reclined in an armchair upholstered with hundred-dollar bills. "I thought you said you'd take care of him." With each word, he prodded a thick orange index finger closer into Sarah's face. "I guess you'll have to spend another night in solitary." Donald snapped his fingers, and secret servicemen began to escort Sarah out of the room.

Between sobs she cried, "No! Please, Donald, they're just stronger than we expected!"

"I don't want to hear excuses. And it's Mr. President to you. Take her away." He waved his hands in the direction of the exit, and a moment later, Sarah was gone, dragged away to the Trump Mausoleum, where all enemies of the president were taken. Among the imprisoned were Joe Biden, Flo Rida, Jeb Bush, and others. There was still the ongoing mission to capture Bernie Sanders and John Kasich, but soon he would get them. Donald also had a particularly grungy cell awaiting the Obamas.

Donald glanced at a framed photo of himself on the plaster wall. He still had respect for Barack and family; he liked people that weren't captured. "I guess if you want a job done right, you have to do it yourself. Blah blah blah." He pressed the intercom button beside the picture. "Carson, unleash the Trumpinator. Those Obamas will never know what hit them."


End file.
